Commencing Winter
by Ms. ST
Summary: Mrs. Lovett learns the hard way that Sweeney Todd is only the barber, and she is only the baker. Oneshot. Rated T for abuse.


Winter graced the streets of London once again. White mounds collected on the edge of the roads; rooftops sported their ermine; ice was chiseled away from the windows; everyone was bundled in their winter attire. Horse carriages took extra caution as they slashed through the slosh that had yet to be swept away from the street. The atmosphere was very solemn. Society kept to itself. It might have been the fact that it was entirely too cold to utter a word, or maybe it was because of the weather, so cold and bitter, that it effected the moods of the London civilians. Either way, the only sounds drifting away from the city was of the horses neighing, the carriage wheels whining, the individual shoes tapping against the ground, and the vicious wind weaving through the separate streets and alleyways.

One building on the corner of Fleet Street, one whose roof was too deprived for a fur coat, whose sidewalk was bare of people, a baker resided. She was kneading dough, preparing for that day's lunch hour. The baker saw only workers during lunch, and she was more than happy to fill their bellies with her delicious pies. As she cut a circle in the dough, the baker chuckled and smirked to herself, imagining the workers who came in biting into a friend of theirs.

"Why are you laughing?" Mrs. Lovett was startled by the sudden interruption. She nearly dropped the knife she wielded, but she soon recovered once she looked up from her work. Standing on the threshold between the bakery and the parlor, Sweeney Todd stood clutching a tea kettle in his hand. The baker noticed that his knuckles were paper white, gripping the handle of the pot as if it were a calming mechanism. She was thankful that it was the handle he was mentally choking instead of her neck.

"Thought of somethin' funny Toby said to me earlier," she lied as she smirked, remembering the thought she had earlier. "Need some tea, deary?" Looking from the kettle to the barber, she regretted what she did. Sweeney was not a man of many words or expressions, but Mrs. Lovett knew him well enough to see that he was displeased. His frown lines creased; his eyebrow quivered; his eyes narrowed; and his jaw tightened.

"You forgot to fill it this morning," he declared, holding out the empty pot in the space between Mrs. Lovett and him.

Reluctantly, though obediently, the baker stepped away from her pies to fetch the dangling tea kettle. Mrs. Lovett bravely looked up, and to her disappointment the barber's expression did not change. His glare burned the soul right out of her body.

Walking over to where the bucket of water she fished up that morning sat, she thought, 'What a lazy ol' git! He has hands an' arms, don't he? Couldn't see that I was busy, eh? Have to do everythin' meself 'round here.' She could still feel Sweeney's glower smolder the back of her head. Her rage sizzled down once she set the kettle next to the bucket. She grabbed a ladle and began to scoop the water from the pail, carefully pouring it into the pot.

"Sorry, love," she said, daring not to look up and see his wrath again. "Been busy all morning. Me ol' bones ain't what they used to be. I'm one woman, baking hundreds of pies." There was an extended pause, but Mrs. Lovett kept her head down.

"Where's the boy?" Was this a spark of interest? Had he actually been listening to her? His question took the baker by surprise! The only response she ever received from him was either a grunt or a quick nod. He actually listened. This rare phenomenon made Nellie Lovett's heart flutter; her old knees were weak from hope! Now that she was not afraid to look over her shoulder, thinking that the barber turned back to his normal, hard and bitter mask, she turned her head and answered that she sent Toby out on an errand that morning. And the baker was correct. Sweeney's once livid face changed back to the expression she came to know so well. And then, now that Mr. T was in an unusual and foreign mood, she sparked an idea – she was always one for ideas.

"There are so many things to do," she explained as she casually handed the kettle back to Mr. Todd. "I mean I usually have Toby here to help me mix ingredients and roll the dough and cut out the tops of the pies." She turned her back on the barber and crossed her arms. "But there are so many things to do for one woman." She hoped she would hear him say that he would help, but instead, there was silence. Nellie turned her body around again and discovered that Sweeney Todd was heading back up to his room. The baker frowned and huffed loudly, picking up her dressed so that when she hurried into the parlor, she would not trip.

"Mr. T, I could really use your help," she called to him, and just in time, too. He was just about to turn the corner onto the other flight of stairs. "Please, I've been bustlin' all day, walkin' up an' down those damn stairs. An' these dresses aren't exactly made for walkin' for a long time. Please, just until Toby comes back. I will never again ask ya, if yer do it just this once." Mrs. Lovett was hopeful. Her stomach clenched with eagerness. She wished that the barber would shed away his animosity and resentment, and once in his re-born life –just once – be genuine enough to help her make a few small pies. The baker's eyes widened with much anticipation as Sweeney's lips parted.

"No."

Her heart sank. It was shot down by the heavy blow of rejection. One would think Nellie would get used to Mr. Todd refusing to do anything for her, but it seemed as if every time he did, Mrs. Lovett was progressing more and more to realization – Benjamin Barker was no more, and what was left in his body was a stubborn, revenge-obsessed murderer who had the incapability to love. Besides, his favorite color was yellow. But it was dangerous that the baker was just as stubborn and guilty of being a slaughterer.

"Well, I don't think it's fair that I'm the only one pullin' their weight!"

"I said no."

"Always broodin' away on yer wrongs! Wh-"

"No!"

"What are ya goin' to do after ya take yer revenge, eh?" Mrs. Lovett stood her ground, her exterior showing her bravery and persistence, but what Nellie was really feeling was terror and anxiety. She never stood up for herself in front of Sweeney, in fear that he would do something drastic. But all she asked of him was to make a few pies to help her before lunch, and he refused out of some egotistical, self-centered reason.

The baker started to back away from the steps. Sweeney Todd was coming forward, his knuckles cracked under the weight of pressure he forced upon them. Mrs. Lovett was able to see the wrath the barber held in his eyes. The very scent of rage was fuming from his skin. She might have been imagining it, but Nellie could even see red illuminating right off of his body. Mrs. Lovett jumped as the tea pot made a loud din when it hit the wooden floor. She closed her eyes when her back touched the wall behind her. When she opened them again, Mr. Todd was standing a few inches away. His face and body were tense, and she couldn't help but fear the worse. And her fear came true.

Sweeney opened his palm and slapped Mrs. Lovett's face. The sound of the strike echoed through the parlor, and it left a large red mark on her cheek. She instantly held her hands to her face and looked up at the barber. Her eyes were stinging. She tried to keep herself from crying. But once Sweeney hit her again, this time punching her other cheek, the tears she was trying to hold in came flooding out. The baker started to cough, choking on a thump of guilt or shame in her throat. She should have had more control over her anger. It was her fault for this beating. She deserved it. Nellie struggled to keep her mind off of Mr. T's frenzy. She thought that maybe if her mind was someplace else, by the sea where she strived to be, the pain would go away and maybe the memory of the man she loved beating her would retreat from her head as well.

When the rampage ceased, Mrs. Lovett found herself sitting on the floor, her knees were tight against her bosom, her arms were wrapped firm around her legs, and her head was crouched down. From blocking out Sweeney's censored words, Mrs. Lovett was startled to hear his boots scuff the floor as he walked away. She listened to him stomp up the stairs and slam the door behind him. What she did not hear was him picking up the kettle. Turning up her head, grimacing at the pain, she spotted the tea pot still lying on the floor and a water puddle surrounding it. It wasn't far from where she was sitting, so carefully she crawled to the spill and started to mop up the water with the edge of her dress.

When she was done, there were still a few spots under her. She cleaned those up, but every time she wiped one spot up, another appeared. Mrs. Lovett lifted a finger to her cheek and found that it was wet. She was crying, and as soon as she discovered that, the tears pored once more. Her back heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Her nails dug into the wood. She tried to go back to the sea. She tried to smell the salty air. She tried to feel the warm sand in between her fingers. Nothing would stop her from bawling.

"Mum?" A frail voice called from behind her. The baker opened her eyes. They were not stinging from holding back the tears. The tears themselves stopped falling. But Nellie fought against the urge to turn her head from the floor. She looked a mess, and Toby would get frightened if he knew she was weeping.

"Mum, are you okay?" he asked, and his generous question put a smile on her face.

"Yes… Yes dear," she answered. Her voice was regaining strength. "Winter is not my favorite season."


End file.
